The End of the Road
by bionic4ever
Summary: An alternative to On the Run: What if Jaime had continued to run, instead of returning to face the NSB after her resignation - and what if something went terribly wrong? Special thanks to The Bionic Project and to Julie.
1. Chapter 1

**The End of the Road**

Chapter One

They say that hindsight is 20/20. Well, a lot of good that does me now! A well-trained agent should have the foresight to anticipate problems, but since I'm technically no longer an agent, I'm not sure that applies to me. I guess I was still one when I ran, of course, but at that point my only thought was to get away, to reach a place where no one knew me and where those who _did_ know me would never find me. I've done that now....but at what cost?

I have nobody to blame but myself for this predicament, and that is exactly how I'd planned it. When Oscar came to my house to tell me the NSB was going to put me away, I have no doubt he'd have come with me, if I'd only asked. He was already risking so much in simply warning me what was ahead; asking more from him would've been asking him to turn his back on his entire life – and on the country that needs him. As badly as I wanted his help, that wouldn't have been fair, and I knew it.

Chris found me not long after I'd initially taken off. My first thought had been to go to a place where I'd always felt safe in the past, to collect my thoughts, so I went to my parents' old cabin in the mountains. I knew I couldn't stay there long, though, because while it wouldn't be the first place to pop up on the NSB's radar, they would figure it out eventually. I was just about ready to move on when the knock came at the door. Of course, I thought they'd somehow tracked me down already – but it was Chris. He said he loved me, that he wanted to be with me...but not on the run. He urged me to turn myself in and even said he'd go to the NSB's little 'retirement community' with me. As much as I cared for him, living the rest of my life without the freedom that our country _promises_ its citizens....well, that just wasn't an option. I knew I had to keep going, alone.

Steve tried to help me, too. As soon as Skylab returned to Earth and Oscar and Rudy told him what I'd done, he took off on his own to find me. I saw him before he saw me and I tried for over a week to give him the slip and get away, but finally I gave in and met with him. He offered to find me transport to anywhere in the world, no questions asked and no strings attached. I had to sleep on that one, but ended up turning him down. Too afraid of leaving any loose ends behind me, I guess.

So I kept going....alone. I changed my appearance as much as I could tolerate, but doing that really bugged me. I mean, the entire point of running in the first place was that I wanted to feel like _me_ again – and not like a robotic puppet dangling on the government's string – and seeing a stranger when I looked in the mirror sort of defeated the purpose, you know? So once I felt comfortable in my new place of residence, I gradually made the switch back to where the person in the mirror was _Jaime Sommers_, or at least the new and improved version.

I miss my friends and family terribly, but I have something quite valuable here – my peace of mind. (Or at least....I did.) How did I do it, you ask? How did I elude the Penguin Suits, the Wanted posters and the search dogs? First, I headed North. Still looking like me, I made sure to allow myself to be spotted on my way out of half a dozen areas, leaving a clear trail toward Canada. Then I doubled back (with my newly-changed appearance) and headed South. You can get a very nice little home on the edge of the South American jungle for surprisingly little cash...no questions asked. I speak just enough Spanish to get by, and the locals here are quite suspicious of Americans in general – and the U.S. Government in particular – so I've finally allowed myself to settle in and feel secure. I tuck my hair up into a hat or a brightly-colored scarf and I'm good to go, although most of the time I've simply stayed where I'm at, enjoying this new-found sense of anonymity...and freedom.

There's only one problem – something I should have considered but that never entered my mind. A couple of nights ago, I noticed a tremor in my right hand....

- - - - -


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Here's something you don't hear me say very often: Steve was probably right. Before he left me to my own devices (at my insistence), he advised me – _very strongly_ – to let someone know where I was at all times, for safety's sake. Especially once I'd reached my destination.

"It doesn't have to be me," he said, "although you know you can trust me. But tell _somebody_, Sweetheart, just in case..."

I'm sorry to admit this...but I laughed at him. It was a bitter laugh, because there was certainly nothing funny about the subject at hand, but I knew what he was suggesting was out of the question. At least, in my opinion, it was. I was more scared than I was willing to admit and the fact that the NSB was already lying, posting Wanted fliers claiming I was a dangerous felon, also made me more than a little paranoid. Visions of them throwing Steve (or anyone who tried to help me) in the Hole until they'd forced them to talk might have been only partially realistic, but the thought made me cringe.

Regardless of Steve's protests and his repeated offers to help me, I had to do this alone. Break all contact with him, with Oscar – with everyone - for their sakes, as well as for my own freedom. It seemed at the time to be the right thing to do...but was it?

If anything, my hand is a little worse today. At first the trouble would come and go. Now...it isn't going. It's here. Nothing hurts and I can still control all of my fingers, but the tremor is just damn annoying. Scary, too. I don't know what's happening to my own body, and I can't exactly pop down to Rudy's office for a 10,000 mile check-up any more. I don't think it's rejection because there's no headache and there was no injury to trigger it. (Stress isn't a trigger....is it?) Maybe it's something in the wiring that just needs a simple adjustment, but suddenly nothing is 'simple'. Is whatever might be going wrong affecting my thinking? I don't even know that for sure.

I can't call Rudy. I _**can't**__!_ He's not equipped to find his own way down into a South American jungle without breathing a word to anyone; I won't ask him to endanger himself like that because of a choice that I've made.

Oscar? He'd come in a heartbeat, but really, what could he do? For him, the best option would be to load me onto a transport plane and take me back to the States, back to Rudy....and it wouldn't take Hansen or Parr very long to find me after that. They'd probably arrest Oscar for complicity – and I can't let that happen.

Chris? His parting words were to tell me how much he loved me, but if I were to see him again – now – his greeting would most likely be "Here she is, guys." The saddest part of that scenario is that he'd really believe he was doing the right thing.

Steve? No. Well....maybe. If this _is_ just a wiring issue, maybe he could fix it. If it isn't wiring, though, if I really do need Rudy (or if Steve thought that I did), would he try to physically force me onto a plane? And if he did, could I get away? And if he were to fly down here in the first place, would the NSB notice his sudden departure...and follow him? While it's true we aren't a couple any longer, Steve's and my lives have been connected in one way or another since we were little kids. The government (including the NSB) knows that. I guess Steve is out of the question, too.

What about..._Michael?_ He might not be the bionic genius that Rudy is, but he's a top-notch doctor and scientist and he's helped pulled me through the toughest of medical emergencies...death itself. Would he come? Could he handle this? Out of anyone who could possibly help me, he's the least likely to be on the NSB's radar. Does he have enough stealth in him to keep it that way? I just don't know, and that makes him too risky.

So I have a choice to make here. This tremor might be nothing major – or it might be deadly serious. Do I risk giving up my new-found freedom to take care of my health? And if so, who am I supposed to call? Patrick Henry once said "Give me liberty or give me death"...

It's almost like he was talking to me.

- - - - -


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Maybe the best thing for me to do right now is not to dwell on this. I mean, stress can only make things worse...right? I think I'll take today to just relax and enjoy the scenery. I can't imagine a place further from the bustle and crush of DC or the pollution and noise of Los Angeles!

My house is about a mile and a half from the main road (okay- the only road), which is really more of a wide dirt path. Sometimes, if no one else has traveled it in a few days, you have to push the overgrowth aside in order to get through. (That's after you actually make it to the 'road' in the first place, of course!) The vines and plants are no problem for me, but most people tend to need a machete to get through.

So there's lots to see in that direction, but there is so much more to my little corner of Paradise! If you go straight out from my front door (instead of turning in the direction of the 'road'), the river is less than a quarter of a mile away. In certain spots, it's shallow enough for even non-bionic humans to cross and on the other side is the greenest, lushest patch of rainforest I think I've ever seen! Quite a juxtaposition, jungle to rainforest, right? But it's true. See, a long time ago, this entire area was all solid rainforest. Insert Man, with his annoying tendency to clear away nature and _build things_. Without the canopy of trees and vegetation overhead, the ground on the 'road' side of the river got more sun than it needed and was overgrown with vines, low-lying plants and some not-so-lovely swampy stuff. So a lot of good it did to 'clear' the area – it only made things even more impassable. Boo.

Fortunately, that serves to present someone like me with two totally different views from the same front porch! There is so much to see, if you have the patience to just sit quietly. Often, I can hear the monkeys squealing to each other as they swing through the trees behind the house and a couple of times, first thing in the morning, there's been a bright red Macaw in the tree just across the river. It's all so indescribably beautiful; how could I even think of going back?

Some days, I take the so-called road in to the Market area where I can buy meats, eggs (sometimes) and basic human necessities. Other days, I can choose to travel just a few minutes away from my front door and find my own fresh bananas, papayas – and even cashews! How cool is that! Yes, if you were wondering, I have indoor plumbing and a generator for electricity – but at night, I tend to leave the lights out and just savor the sounds of the world around me. It lulls me into the kind of sleep I never found back 'home'.

I think about Jim and Helen a lot; I sure do miss them! I shudder at what the NSB has likely told them about me, and wonder if Steve and Oscar were able to counter that with something reassuring. At least with Oscar, Chris and Steve, I got to see them each one more time before I 'disappeared'. With Jim and Helen, I never got to say goodbye...

- - -

All-in-all, it was a lazy day today. I sat down by the river (in the shade on the other side so I wouldn't tan) and dangled my feet in the water. Piranhas just aren't attracted to my particular brand of toes, for some reason! A snake slithered across the most shallow section of the water, and I made my usual little shriek, but by the time I was able to gather my legs under me, he was already gone. Didn't I used to have faster reflexes than _that_? Is this due to my new, relaxed way of life (where everything moves a little more slowly)....or is something else going wrong? And how wrong is 'wrong' anyway? Is this something I can learn to live with, a slight quirk that won't get any worse if I don't push it? God, I hope so....

I have no phone here – which is how I've wanted it. No one can reach me but I can choose to call out if I want or need to, at the Market area down the road. Tomorrow maybe I'll head in that direction, pick up some supplies and possibly make a phone call. But...to who?

Tonight, I have a lot of thinking to do.

- - - - -


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Today started out okay; pretty well, in fact. The lazy, relaxing day yesterday seemed to help a lot; I had at least some of my energy back. My right hand didn't have its normal 'oomph' but I could kick the vines out of the roadway and shove the overhang off of me with my arm. Not a big deal. It was slower going than usual, but I made it to Market.

Got the shopping done first, while the internal debate still raged: should I call? If so, _who_ should I call? How to keep myself safe – and make sure they stay safe, too? Vegetables and meats are so much easier than life-altering decisions! As always, there was a lot of beef, some chicken and even a little bit of pork. Also something different this time: lamb. I've never been able to stomach the thought of eating lamb, so rare as it might be in this part of the world, I passed it by. I picked up some fresh veggies, a couple of little packages of beef and a chicken to roast. I also bought something else that I've only had a couple of times – a stalk of raw sugar cane to gnaw on, hoping it would calm my nerves.

Well, I paced back and forth across the entire Marketplace, gnawed my sugar cane to a nub and then there was nothing left to do except either pick up the phone...or go home. I almost turned and headed back down the road toward home, but feeling my right hand clenching into a semi-fist when I didn't want it to pretty much convinced me what needed to be done. Who would be able to help me on his own (and who was least likely to be on the NSB's radar)? I dropped a handful of coins into the primitive-looking payphone...and dialed.

"This is Michael Marchetti." His voice sounded strong and clear, in spite of the raggedy reception.

Suddenly, I could barely breathe. "Michael....it's me. I need help," I told him. I don't think my heart has ever pounded that hard.

"Jaime? Where are you? The NSB was here and they said -"

I didn't wait to hear what they'd told him. As softly as I could, so he'd hopefully know I wasn't angry, I hung up the phone. I don't even know if the NSB had visited two months ago...or two days ago. Probably should've at least asked him that, but I was too afraid there might be a Penguin Suit standing in the corner of Michael's office, waiting for me to contact him. Sounds paranoid, I know, but these people pride themselves in their ability to _always_ hit their marks. Before I came along, their batting average was perfect. I was (and AM) the chink in their armor....the black mark on their record. If several months ago they were desperate enough to tell the world that I was a bank robber and an escaped felon, then God only knows what tactics they're resorting to by now.

I almost called Oscar instead of Michael. He was my first choice; he has a strong, intelligent mind and a clear head in a crisis. He would know what to do and how to handle this. Now I'm glad I didn't call him. If they've gotten to Michael, they've watching Oscar even more closely than I'd thought. I sure hope he's okay...!

I refuse to endanger anyone else's safety by asking them to help me! And – for now – I will not jeopardize my freedom over something that very well might be nothing at all. I've always been lucky in the past. Hopefully, luck is still on my side. Resting yesterday helped. Maybe with a lot of extra rest, this tremor-and weakness thing will go away on its own....or at least not get any worse. So I hooked my basket over my shoulders and headed back down the pseudo-road.

I'd already cleared most of the way on my trip to the Market, but going home took longer than it ever has before. The road was fairly dry (a rarity) but my legs felt like they were slogging through mud – or maybe cement. The monkeys had already begun their nightly romp-and-chatter, but it took so much effort to just keep moving that I didn't dare stop. As soon as I was inside, I emptied the basket, made sure everything was stored properly, and then hit the bed. Tomorrow, things will be better. I'll brew some tea, maybe make a nice chicken-and-fruit salad and do absolutely nothing. I can crack open a new book, stay in my bed and read the whole thing. My strength will come back; I know it will. It has to.

(Note to self: The next time you decide to take the so-called road to Market...bring a damn machete!)

- - - - -


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

I have decided that maybe this is the flu. I slept on and off last night, with some really weird dreams to keep me company. (Fever-induced, maybe? Not sure if I have one, but that sounds logical.) My right hand is shaking too badly to hold my cup of tea, but my left hand isn't having any trouble, so that's a plus. I should try and eat something – and was planning to roast that chicken – but I'm just so tired. I don't want to fall asleep and start a fire in the kitchen. Maybe I'll just have some papaya later. For now, the tea tastes lovely; just a touch of honey and lemon. A real balm for the spirit.

I had a strange dream about yesterday at the Marketplace. It was when I was making the phone call, while my heart was going so crazy. At the time it was really happening, the blood was rushing to my head so quickly that I didn't really hear anything but Michael's voice on the other end of the line, and didn't see much except my right hand curving into its involuntary half-fist. It wouldn't be inaccurate to say that for a few fleeting minutes, I was completely unaware of my surroundings. In the dream, though, my voice and Michael's were blotted out. Instead, I heard the people passing by, haggling over prices and gloating about their wares and purchases. And....something out of place and totally unexpected: _Someone was speaking __**English.**_

"...is her – I'm telling you!" a male voice said. Who was he talking to? Was he with someone else or on the phone? I don't know. Right at that moment in the dream, there was a cacophony in my front yard, halfway between the house and the river.

_WA-CHOOOOO!_ Nope – not a person with an awful cold. A flock of Whistling Ducks had chosen my front yard for their latest convention and were waddling circles around each other, Wa-CHOO-ing their heads off. Once I drifted back to sleep, the dream was gone. Most likely, it was just my mind playing paranoid tricks anyhow. I mean, if someone was actually speaking English down there, wouldn't I have picked up on that at the time? I'd hope I would, but right now I just don't know.

- - -

Okay. I've spent the entire day in bed. I've had my papaya, an ocean of tea and some toast. And...this is NOT the flu. All of my strength has just been sapped right out of me. If I had even a little bit of it left, I'd be ready to consider jumping on a plane and heading back toward DC – to Rudy. Because....I'm scared. I have to face the fact that the Calvary isn't going to come riding in on a band of white horses to save me. If the absolute worst happened to me out here....who would ever know?

So, I have to do something. I have to! Tomorrow, after a good night's sleep, I'll try for one more trip to the Market – and the telephone. And this time, I won't hang up.

- - -

Thank heavens the way is still pretty much cleared from my trip two days ago. It's all I can do to just keep walking – and I'm not even to the 'road' yet! Have to stop and rest for a bit. It's so beautiful here and today, while I'm leaning against this big old Kapok tree, the colors are more vivid than I've ever seen them. Orchids in brilliant shades of yellow, white and green....fuzzy little fuchsia-tinted blossoms (I'm not sure what those are) that cover the patches of ground that haven't been walked on....and my favorite – the bright purple and white sunbursts of the passion fruit flowers. I'd go over there and pick a passion fruit to eat while I'm sitting, but I think I need to save all of my strength for the walk that's ahead of me. (It's never seemed quite so far before!)

Gotta get up now and get moving again...but my body doesn't seem to agree. I must have hit the Kapok harder than I thought on the way back down, because I've managed to disturb the slumbering bats who flit away en masse, clicking their annoyance at me as they go.

Damn it! This wasn't supposed to happen! I don't think I can make it back to the house – and I'm certainly not gonna make it to the Market. At least, not right now. Maybe if I stretch out, just for a little while, and take a nap...

- - - - - 


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

**OSCAR**

Michael Marchetti called my office to tell me that he'd heard from Jaime and that she was in trouble. I never got that call; I didn't need to. I have contacts all over the world, cultivated through decades of effort. I've known all along that Jaime was in South America, although it wasn't until several days ago that we finally learned she was in Peru.

She needed to leave and she did a superb job of covering her tracks. I don't mean to sound immodest, but I doubt that anyone else would have been able to locate her. That's more of a testament to her abilities than to my own. When I was certain that she'd reached her destination and that she was safe, I made the decision to leave her alone. After all, I was the one who told her to run and I understand better than almost anyone exactly why she did it.

My contacts did continue to keep their eyes and ears open, though, passing Jaime's picture discreetly among themselves and staying alert for any sign of her – or for any rumblings that she might be in trouble. Several days ago, my phone rang. Jaime had been spotted at a small, open-air market in Peru. The friend-of-a-friend (who had no idea who the woman he'd spotted actually was) reported that she seemed off-balance, either ill or drugged.

I couldn't leave her alone any longer. I sent a car for Rudy Wells and one for Steve and then – since Hansen had suspected for some time that I knew where Jaime was – I called in the OSI lawyers. Steve, Rudy and I were already on a transport plane to Peru before we knew for certain that my plan would work, but there was no time to be wasted in sitting around and waiting. Jaime needed us, and I needed to put my faith in my legal team.

By the time we landed in Lima, the injunction was ours. Bill Parr and Jack Hansen had to give us ten days to find Jaime without any interference on their parts. The grounds we used were Humanitarian. We told the judge that Jaime was dying. If we could save her, we'd bring her back to the States but we said (and the judge believed) that her condition and her very life would be further threatened by the presence of the NSB. When I'd outlined the plan with the lawyers, it was merely a fabrication to buy us some time but sadly, when we finally did find Jaime, it wasn't very far from the truth.

The market where she had been sighted was even further off the beaten path than we'd thought. My contact met us at the airstrip in Lima and we headed straight into the jungle by jeep. Within a few minutes, I didn't need to ask him why he hadn't chosen a faster car. The jeep could barely make it through. He'd brought a couple of helpers with him, machetes in their hands, to cut away the vines and branches, but Steve was able to do a better job much more quickly. It had already been more than 48 hours since Jaime had been spotted; we couldn't afford to lose a single minute.

I had pictured a small Farmer's Market in my mind, but it was nothing like that. The people, the stalls and their over-hanging canopies (when the vendors could afford a canopy) were beaten down and dusty...but the food was clean and appeared fresh. My contact took us straight to a makeshift booth in the far corner that sold sugar cane. He nodded to the vendor, who nodded to me, shook my hand and – without a word – pointed down an old dirt road.

Calling it a road is a kindness. I'm not even certain you could call it a working path. It was obvious, though, that someone (Jaime?) had cut their way through within the last few days. The jeep couldn't make it in, but there was very little for Steve to clear away. Filled with worry and fear for Jaime, he was unable to contain himself any longer and took off at full speed. We caught up to him a couple of miles later, at the end of the road. There was no cabin, no shack, no tent in sight. There was only jungle.

Steve was already staring intently into the vegetation, looking for any signs of Jaime. He was moving much more slowly now, following every broken twig or crushed leaf and then doubling back when he'd realize he was tracking an animal instead. Rudy's face was scanning the air above us, trying to figure out how a chopper could land anywhere in the area, should it prove that one was needed.

My contact found us shortly thereafter, trailed by his helpers, carrying as many of Rudy's medical supplies as their arms could hold. "There is a river," he panted, pointing through the jungle off to one side of where we were standing. "And a little house, long empty. Perhaps she is hiding there."

Rudy and I manned the machetes, since Steve had spotted another nearly-invisible trail and headed off on his own. The five of us had just reached the clearing (and the house was in sight) when we heard Steve's voice.

"I've got her!" he called urgently. "Rudy, _hurry!_"

- - - - -


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

**STEVE**

When I first spotted Jaime lying there, what I saw would've broken your heart. I know it broke mine. She was curled up beneath this big old tree that looked like half of its roots were above the ground. Her knees were drawn up toward her chest like a little kid's and her head was resting between two of the biggest 'roots'. At first, she didn't look alive. When I looked closer, she was breathing! (Barely, but breathing is always a good sign.) My first instinct was to scoop her up and run for Rudy, but if she'd fallen and hit her head or been injured in some way, that wouldn't have been a good idea. Instead, I called out for the others, sat down next to Jaime and held her hand. Her lips and her face were both the same awful greyish color. She wasn't dead, but I knew she was probably pretty close. Where the hell was Rudy?

It seemed like it took forever for him to find us. I talked to Jaime, letting her know that she wasn't alone anymore and that she'd be okay (even though I wasn't entirely sure that was the truth). There was no response, not even a flicker of her eyelids. Then I noticed her right arm, which had ended up beneath her body when she'd fallen or laid down. It was quivering like a just-caught fish and her hand was balled into a kind of claw-fist. Except for occasional weak, shuddering breaths, her arm seemed to be the only part of Jaime that was still moving. Were we already too late?

Finally, Rudy got through the maze of vines and found us. He knelt down among the flowers and I had to step away, even though I really didn't want to let go of her hand. He checked quickly (but efficiently) for broken bones and then gently rolled Jaime onto her back. I heard him swear under his breath when he got a good look at her.

"Is it rejection?" Oscar asked. It was the same thing I'd been wondering.

Rudy shook his head. "I don't think so...but it's bad. We need to get her back to the house where – _maybe_ – I can start treating her."

House? I hadn't noticed one, but I guessed they had, so I lifted Jaime into my arms and followed Oscar and Rudy. When we got inside, I laid Jaime down on the bed and joined Oscar in the house's main room so Rudy could do his work. It was a long time before he finally came out of the bedroom...and he wasn't smiling.

"The good news is, she's not rejecting," he told us.

"What is it?" Oscar asked.

"The power pack in Jaime's arm is misfiring. It could be due to the extreme heat she's lived in for months now, or it could simply be an equipment malfunction. Either way, we've got a problem."

Oscar got up and started to pace. "Is it serious?"

"It's gone on for too long," Rudy explained to us. "Her legs are trying to make up for the deficit in energy but that would be scientifically impossible. Jaime's biological systems have been affected by the imbalance. Her heart rate is dangerously irregular, her lungs are straining and we may be looking at nerve damage -"

"Can you save her?" I asked, not too sure I wanted to know the answer.

"Maybe. I did bring an extra power pack with me, but it may already be too late. If only she'd been able to reach us a few days ago, I could be giving you a little more hope. But I'll do the best I can." He stepped over to where the other men had left his medical kits. "I'd better get started right away." He began rooting through the kits, setting out the needed supplies: a small, portable oxygen tank, rubbing alcohol, a scalpel, a couple of syringes and (of course) the power pack.

Oscar asked if we could see her first, and Rudy nodded. When Oscar stepped through the doorway and toward Jaime's bed (there was no real door), I saw him brush the stray hairs from her face and kiss her forehead before I turned away to give him whatever privacy the little house would allow.

"Rudy, what are her chances?" I asked.

"Of surviving? Maybe 50-50. Without any complications?" Rudy shook his head and I almost thought I saw a tear in his eye. "Let's not think about that part right now," he suggested.

- - - - - 


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

**OSCAR**

Steve went in to spend a few private minutes with Jaime, and I went back out into the main room to find that my contact had returned – with a hefty bottle of bourbon.

"Thought you could use a little medicine too, my friend," he told me, handing me a glass. I downed it quickly and thanked him as he poured a refill. "She means a lot to you, this woman," he stated. It was not a question.

I could only nod; it wasn't a time for words. Back at the office, when anyone asked me about my feelings for Jaime, I stressed her talents, her intelligence and grace – and when pressed further would admit to loving her as though she was my daughter. In truth, my feelings for her run much deeper than that. If my life wasn't already irrevocably entwined with Government service, I could easily picture spending the rest of it with Jaime. I don't think there is any other woman I could see myself making that statement about.

When Steve came out of the bedroom he, too, silently accepted a glass of bourbon. Beer or perhaps brandy are really more to his taste, but as the saying goes, any port in a storm. I knew his heart was at least as heavy as mine; in all likelihood, more so. When Jaime wakes up (and I have to think 'when' because I cannot bear to think 'if'), how will either Steve or I break the news to her about Chris? She may have run from him, too, but I'm fairly certain she still has feelings for him. I suppose we'll have to play that one by ear, when the time comes.

Before heading back into the bedroom to continue working on Jaime, Rudy made a list of needed supplies for my contact to pick up in Lima: some oxygen refills, additional medications and a few other necessities, and my contact left immediately. Steve and I both gave Rudy a nod of support as he turned toward his patient; once again, it was not a time for words.

- - - - -

**JAIME**

I don't remember a whole lot of what happened to me while I was laying in the jungle. We figured out later that I was there for somewhere between 8 and 12 hours. I sort of remember Steve's voice – or bits and pieces of his words, fluttering around and scrambling themselves in my brain. I saw him there, holding my hand, but I could see myself there, too – like I was watching two actors in a distant play, pantomiming some awful Greek tragedy. There was no pain. No feeling at all, really. Then that faded away, too.

The next time I was aware of anything, I was lying in what felt like my bed. Opening my eyes to find out for sure (and to see whether or not that was really Rudy I heard mumbling to himself nearby) was just too much effort. I didn't have the strength. There was absolutely no sense of time passing. I became fairly certain Rudy was with me, so there was hope, but I could also sense the presence of my parents, waiting very nearby. Either outcome was fine with me at that point. There was no fear.

- - -

**STEVE**

It was a couple of hours before we saw Rudy again. (Oscar and I couldn't bear to look through the bedroom doorway to see what was happening, so all we could do was sit and wait.) When he finally came out, his face was pale and he looked completely drained.

"She's alive," he said, sinking into a chair of his own, "but that's about all I can tell you for now. I've replaced her power pack and re-wired the damaged area in her arm. Whether or not her system is able to stabilize...we'll have to wait and see."

"Is she conscious?" Oscar asked.

"No. I don't expect her to regain it for at least another 12 to 24 hours," Rudy explained. "If she's able..." he added quietly.

"Should we be taking her to a hospital?" I asked.

"It wouldn't make much difference at this point. Jaime isn't stable enough to transfer anywhere, and bionic surgery doesn't require the same sterile field that medical surgery demands. Provided she stabilizes and re-gains a little strength, she may require therapy or possibly corrective surgery for any nerve or organ damage. Of course we would transfer her then. Preferably back to the States. Right now, though, I can't ascertain what her future medical needs might be. I'll be able to tell you more if she wakes up."

Oscar and I couldn't help exchanging a look that I guess was somewhere between grief and fear. We'd both noticed Rudy's use of the word 'IF'. All three of us were pretty silent after that, which was probably good because otherwise we might've missed the very quiet moan from the bedroom....music to our ears.

- - - - -


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

**JAIME**

When I opened my eyes, I knew I had to be dreaming....or hallucinating. I was in my room, my private corner of Paradise, but Rudy, Steve and Oscar were all standing around my bed, leaning over me and grinning like I'd just laid a prized golden egg!

"Hi, Babe," Oscar said, looking something like a Cheshire cat.

I opened my mouth to answer him, but Rudy shushed me with a finger across my lips. "Shh..." he told me. "You need to rest now. Lots of time to talk later."

"You're gonna be alright, Sweetheart," Steve piped in. "But you sure did give us a good scare."

Rudy was already diving right in, doing what Rudy does best: checking vitals and doing his general medical hover pattern. "It's amazing," he told the others. "She shouldn't be awake until at least tomorrow." Gee, I love it when people discuss me...in front of me! But then he looked right at me. "You know I'm always glad to see you...but never as happy to see you as I am right now."

I think I must've looked almost as confused as I felt. Rudy patted my hand and kept right on smiling. "We'll explain it all later," he promised. "For now, are you in any pain?" I shook my head. I felt like an old dish cloth that had been wrung out one too many times but there was still no pain. "Good," he affirmed. He reached for a needle...and I made a face at him (at least, I tried to). They were all apparently so happy to see me awake – and now he wanted me to go back to sleep?

- - -

**STEVE**

We tiptoed (well, the male version of tiptoed) out of the room so that Jaime could rest. I have to tell you that those hazel eyes have never looked more beautiful than when she opened them so unexpectedly and looked up at us. She wasn't in pain, which was a huge relief. And she didn't ask about Chris. More relief. She'll ask eventually – and we're not going to lie to her – but for now, it would only hurt her to know the truth.

Oscar and I helped ourselves to a celebratory bourbon and Rudy poured himself some coffee. Then he told us Jaime's heart rate was already beginning to stabilize. He was still quite worried about her breathing, though – she seemed to be struggling a bit for air – but it could be that she's just so weak right now that everything is a struggle. He said we'll know a lot more in the next few days.

We talked about possibly needing to extend Oscar's injunction. Hopefully, Jaime will be well enough in nine more days that we can make a decision about our next move. Or really, so that SHE can make the decision. We can't speak for her (she's made that quite clear in the past), so all we can do is advise and hope she makes the right choice. Will she choose to come back with us to the States, and what exactly will Parr and Hansen's reactions be if she does? Or will she want to stay here, where she's obviously made a comfortable, if somewhat unique, new life for herself? I have no idea. I do know that I'd move down here to be with her in a heartbeat, if that was ever possible.

My first thought when she opened her eyes and looked up at us was to kiss her, to wrap my arms around her and never let go. But that isn't my place right now and it might never be again. I'm still working on accepting that. Oscar probably had the same thought I did. Yeah, I know how he feels about Jaime. I've seen the way he looks at her, heard the tone of his voice change when he talks about her. I'm not an idiot. And for the most part, I'd be okay with the two of them as a couple. (If it can't be me, of course.) I know he'd be good to her, that he'd lay his life on the line to protect her, exactly as I would. I hope Oscar is up for a little healthy competition, though, because I'm not ready to throw in the towel just yet.

Once the house had quieted down and even Rudy was dozing briefly in a chair, I snuck back into the bedroom to watch Jaime while she slept – just for a little while. Even as sick as she is, she still takes my breath away, every single time I look at her.

Yes, I still love her.

- - - - -


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

**RUDY**

In my heart, Jaime is the daughter I was never able to have. She has sought my advice often, listened carefully and then promptly ignored it – exactly as I'd imagine a 'real' daughter would do. Some of my colleagues would protest that I've allowed myself to become too close to my patient. When I saw Jaime lying on the jungle floor, underneath that tree, for the first time I wondered if they might have been at least partially correct. I could feel the "father's heart" within me shattering, even while the doctor kicked into auto-pilot and did what needed to be done.

Jaime's condition was critical. I wasn't even certain that she'd make it back to the house. Her body was trying desperately to overcompensate for the loss of energy to her arm and the subsequent erratic functioning of her legs. Because of this struggle and due to the time she'd spent unconscious in the jungle, her lungs were rapidly filling with fluid and her heart was straining to keep any sort of normal pacing. To put it as simply as possible (because I'm told I have a tendency not to 'speak normal English'), Jaime's entire body had gone haywire. I tried to give the others some sense of hope, but privately, I didn't think she'd survive the first night.

Replacing the faulty power pack was not a problem. I don't think it failed due to weather conditions or bad circuitry; it was just time for it to be replaced – about two months ago. I don't ask Jaime and Steve to come in for their '10,000 mile check-ups' just because I miss them. Like any sort of technological or mechanical units, their bionic parts need regular service to remain functional. I'm just sorry Jaime had to learn that the hard way.

The problem after the power pack replacement was in trying to regain normal equilibrium for her biological body. The fact that she woke up much sooner than I'd expected was a wonderful sign, but she wasn't fully conscious – not really. Her heart rate stabilized but the rhythm remained weak. I gave her several doses of the antibiotic I'd brought in my kit until Oscar's friend returned with the supplies and I was able to give her something stronger to counteract what I believed to be pneumonia. Her chances were beginning to improve, but they were nowhere near the 50-50 that I'd quoted Steve.

I'd given Jaime all that medicine and science could offer for her condition, and one other thing as well: the love that lies in a father's heart. It was time to see if she had any fight left.

- - -

**OSCAR**

Rudy kept a close eye on Jaime, especially through that first very rough night. He probably got no more than an hour or two of total sleep, dozing upright in that chair. I pride myself on being able to read almost anyone, even people I don't know, and I've known Rudy for many, many years. There was a dark, troubling look in his eyes that he wouldn't (or couldn't) allow himself to put into words. Steve and I had both tried to remain hopeful because the alternative was unthinkable, and it was quite kind of Rudy to allow us to keep that hope even when he didn't harbor it himself.

The next morning, the sun was shining brightly through the front windows and I was beginning to see just why Jaime had chosen this place to settle down in and make a home for herself. I made a pot of coffee and stood at the window, counting at least half a dozen different species of birds that would have been close enough to touch from the front of the house. There was even a trio of monkeys chasing each other as they swung across the maze of leaves and vines. Then Rudy poked his head out of Jaime's bedroom...and nothing else mattered.

"She's awake, Gentlemen," he said jubilantly. "And she's asking for you." Steve and I looked at each other with uncertainty, and Rudy smiled. "_Both_ of you," he affirmed.

Jaime was lying back in a nest of pillows. Her face was still quite pale and we could hear her breath fighting its way in and out of her chest. "Hi there," Steve told her in a slow, laconic voice.

"Good morning," I added for good measure.

Jaime managed a slight smile, her eyes traveling the room and stopping to rest briefly on each of us. When she finally spoke, her voice was thin and a little bit shaky but the tone was clear and strong.

"Where's Chris?"

- - - - -


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

**JAIME**

When I woke up, Rudy was hovering around my bed again. (Does the man ever _sleep?_) The night before, there had been no pain but that morning everything seemed to hurt. Body, bionics – no difference – especially when I tried to do something foolish like breathing. Rudy had been wetting my lips with a moist cloth and when he saw me looking at him, he smiled.

"Hurts when you breathe?" he asked. I nodded, wondering for a split second if he could read minds. Of course he couldn't, but he _could_ read bodies; that was his job, after all. "I'll give you something a little milder this time," he went on, "so you won't feel so groggy. We'll see how you do with that." This time, I didn't make a face; the shot was a blessing.

He puttered a bit, waiting for the shot to take effect, then picked up a glass from beside the bed. "Feel up to trying a little water?" he asked.

That would involve moving (which didn't seem like a great idea) but my throat was parched, so I let him help me sit up just enough. "Easy," he coaxed. "Just a sip or two for now."

The water supply had turned out to be one of my least favorite aspects of Peru, but at that moment it slid down like honey and tasted even better. "You're...really here," I half-whispered. The night before, I wasn't sure if he'd been a jungle-induced hallucination.

"So are Oscar and Steve," he confirmed. "They're in the next room."

"Can I...see them?"

Rudy nodded, his perma-smile still firmly attached. "Of course."

"Rudy," I began as he headed toward the doorway, "is Chris here, too?"

"No, Honey, he's not." He stuck his head into the other room and called to Oscar and Steve.

I know them both well enough that I could tell they'd slept about as poorly as Rudy. Of course, my house only had the one bed, but I hoped they'd at least found the mats and stretched out on the floor. Later, I discovered that they hadn't.

"Where's Chris?" I asked everyone (and no one in particular). They all exchanged a look like they'd been out in the Peruvian sun too long and were either going to pass out or be violently ill. It was starting to bother my chest and throat when I talked, so I just waited patiently. Surely, someone would answer.

Steve and Oscar both moved closer to the bed and my mind was going in all sorts of crazy directions as I watched them obviously struggling for the right words.

"He's...back in Washington, Babe," Oscar said gently.

Well, that told me he wasn't dead, which had been the worst of my fears. Did he meet some government-groupie bimbo and elope? Was he in jail? _What the hell was going on?_ Finally, Steve was able to spit out the rest of the story.

"He's been working with Hansen and Parr," he told me (very quietly).

"He joined the NSB?" I croaked. Between my parched throat and the tightness in my chest, I was feeling remarkably frog-like.

"Not exactly. He's been giving them information....about you."

"Me?"

"He's working to help them find you and bring you back to DC," Steve concluded.

I didn't know what to say about that. I didn't even realize I was crying until I felt a tear rolling down my cheek. (Only one...I think I was too tired to really bawl.) Oscar reached over and brushed it away while Steve held my hand.

"I'm so sorry, Babe," Oscar told me. "There was nothing I could do to stop him."

"A one-way ticket to Timbuktu might've helped," Steve grumbled bitterly.

"Why?" was all I could manage to say. The man I'd fallen in love with – who told me how very much he loved me – was helping the very people who wanted to put me away! While I could see his intentions as good ones when he'd urged me to turn myself in, actually _helping_ the NSB seemed nothing short of cruel.

"I sent him on assignments," Oscar explained, "trying to keep him busy and away from them, but he came back with pages full of lists -"

"Lists?" I didn't quite get it.

"Information," Steve continued. "Things they'd asked me, but I'd told them I didn't know or couldn't remember."

"Like...what?"

"Your habits, your fears, childhood friends, pen pals, places you'd traveled as a child...." Steve's voice trailed off. I knew that was probably only the start of everything Chris had told them, but Steve sensed (and rightly so) that I'd heard enough.

It was hard for me to breathe. It hurt to talk. But there was still one question pressing on my mind:

"Why...?"

- - - - -


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

**OSCAR**

When we told Jaime about what Chris had done, it had precisely the effect that Steve and I had feared it would. She was devastated. She took it all in very quietly and we watched the emotions cross her face: first confusion, then pain and betrayal, a very stoic anger and finally...acceptance. I wish we'd been able to answer her question, to explain why Chris had done what he did, but I don't think I understand his motives myself. Probably the easiest way for Jaime to come to terms with it would be if she believed that he wanted her placed in the NSB's 'retirement community' so that he could spend the rest of his life with her there. Unfortunately, that is not the case. He no longer has any intention of retiring himself. Perhaps he's chosen to work against her out of bitterness at being left behind? I wish I could say for certain, but I simply don't know. While Rudy tended to Jaime, Steve and I returned to the other room and Steve offered (as he has in the past) to have his own private 'chat' (as he puts it) with Chris. I don't relish the thought of losing one of my best agents to the Federal Penitentiary, however justified his actions might be, so I had to tell Steve no.

Jaime drifted in and out of consciousness – mostly out – for the rest of that day and the next one. Rudy felt it was best to keep her mildly sedated to lessen her pain and give her more of an opportunity to rest and heal. Steve and I found ourselves with a lot of time on our hands. He spent some of that time clearing a better, more solid path to the road and ensuring that the road itself would not become impassable again so quickly. I took a good look around the house and found traces of Jaime everywhere. Although she had only been there a few short months, she had truly made it her own. It was then that I began to wonder if it would be cruel of me to even suggest that she return to Washington. Clearly, Jaime was _home_.

- - -

**JAIME**

I don't remember much about the next couple of days. Every time I would almost wake up, Rudy was right there, offering me sips of water at first and then later some juice. Sometimes, he'd just be sitting there, watching me, but his presence was constant...and very comforting. I'm not sure how much time went by (although they tell me it was almost 3 days) before I was fully awake again. As always, Rudy was there. I think he could see (and I could definitely feel) that something had changed. Whatever he'd been giving me had finally kicked in. Breathing no longer seemed like such a terrible idea. I still felt sore all over, but it was like someone who had spent too much time over-doing it at the gym, rather than someone who'd been run over by a truck.

"You're looking bright and shiny this morning, Young Lady," Rudy said happily.

"I feel...better," I told him. I started to sit up, and he eased me gently back onto my pillows.

"Whoa there, Missy," he cautioned. "Better is not the same as 'well'. You're still very weak. Let's not push it, okay?" His was in full doctor-mode, checking and double-checking every vital sign, but his eyes never left my face. "Feel up to trying a little breakfast?"

"I _am_ sorta hungry..."

"Well, good. That's very good." He patted my hand in classic bedside manner fashion. "Let's see what the old doc and his helpers can rustle up for you."

While someone (Rudy? Oscar?) began poking around in the kitchen area, Steve peered shyly through the bedroom doorway. "A little birdie told me you were awake," he said. "They won't let me cook anything, so how 'bout I keep you company for a little while?"

I smiled at him, so relieved that smiling didn't hurt any longer. "I don't know how much is left out there for them to cook," I told him.

Steve laughed. "You'd be surprised. We sent our helpers on a little shopping excursion. You're fully stocked for any occasion." He pulled a chair right up to the bed. "How do you feel?" he asked.

"Better."

"Well, you look wonderful."

I giggled, just a little. "Now you're being nice. 'Okay', I would buy....but 'wonderful'?" Then, I had to ask. "Steve...what happens from here? When I'm better, I mean?"

"Well, that's up to you, Sweetheart." He explained to me about Oscar's injunction and that, as things stood, there was nearly a week remaining before any decisions had to be made. I was overwhelmed by the effort they'd all put into trying to help me and the lengths they'd been willing to go to in order to keep me safe. I was just about to ask if they'd come up with any suggestions when Rudy returned with my breakfast. He carried in a plate with a scrambled egg and a piece of toast and Oscar came in right behind him, bearing a little glass of juice.

"Small bites," Rudy urged after Steve had propped me up with the pillows. A simple egg and toast, surrounded by three men who absolutely radiated love....this truly was Paradise.

- - - - - 


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

**JAIME**

There was so much to think about while I was lying in that bed. Until the end of that first week, thinking was pretty much all I _could_ do. Rudy was adamant that I not do anything other than rest and recuperate. It was maddening! But he explained (more than once, because I guess I can be a little stubborn at times) that my body had suffered a huge shock. Not an electrical shock, even though circuitry was apparently the start of the trouble, but a major blow to my entire system.

I still can't believe the lengths they went to in order to find me in time! It makes the decision I'm facing so much harder. The three of them kept putting me off, with Rudy wanting me to get stronger before we attempted such a serious, life-changing discussion, but that left me with nothing to do but mull it over in my own head. To recover my optimum health most likely meant a return to the States for treatment, therapy and possibly more surgery. But after that....then what? What good is perfect health without freedom? Could they guarantee that the NSB would back off and leave me alone – or would I have to return to the OSI as the only means of remaining free? (And a forced return to government service...is that really freedom?) Besides, in spite of the nasty drinking water, the bugs and the isolation, I've grown to love it here. What was originally a temporary hiding place has somehow come to feel like _**home**_.

Finally, after a few days of rest where everyone kept trying to feed me massive amounts of anything they thought might tempt my appetite and doing their best to keep my spirits up, the time came where I could actually begin to get some answers....and formulate a plan. We had about 75 hours left until the injunction ran out.

"Down here, I can get you to the point where you'd be able to function and live a normal life," Rudy began, "but to get you back to full speed – to where you were before this happened -"

"I know," I told him. This wasn't starting well.

"We could hold off Parr and the others with another injunction," Oscar explained, "for as long as it took you to truly get well again."

"And after that?" I asked. The three of them glanced uneasily at each other.

"We can't make you any promises, Babe, but I would do everything in my power to fight off the NSB, the Secretary and even the President for you, if need be."

I shook my head and forced myself not to cry. "And if I don't go back?"

Oscar paused for a moment, even though I know he'd already answered this question a million times in his own mind. "Well, we could tell the NSB we were unable to find you," he said slowly, "but that would mean they'd keep on looking, probably with a fresh eye toward South America. Another option is that we could tell them we _did_ find you, but it was too late...and you didn't make it."

"No," Steve said flatly. "That would mean she could _never_ go back."

"It would also mean no one would be looking for her," Rudy pointed out.

"Even if she decided to stay here for now, we can't eliminate the other choice permanently," Steve argued. "She may change her mind in the future – people are allowed to do that, you know."

"In that case," Oscar said quietly, "a few years down the road she could assume a new identity and -"

"A few _years?_" Steve sputtered. "Forget it!"

Oscar's voice was growing tighter, and his worry lines furrowed. "I don't like it either, Pal, but she -"

I had heard enough. "_**SHE**_ is sitting right here in this bed, listening to all of you talking about what's best for _her_ while _she_ has absolutely no clue on God's Green Earth what _she_ is going to do! I need help...suggestions...input! Not arguments or discussions about me that don't even include me!" Then the tears came, ready or not. "Please...just _help me_!"

"You're right," Steve said quietly. All three of them looked a lot more sheepish than I'd intended, and the room went silent.

"Of course, we'll help you," Rudy affirmed. "Just tell us what you need, Honey."

The first thing I needed to do was not cry...so I took a nice, deep breath. Strength would be helpful; tears were not. "I miss all of you – and Jim and Helen...and Callahan...and my friends – so much," I told them. "Sometimes it's been really hard, being all by myself. Hell, nobody here even speaks English! But...I love it here. I know I can't straddle both worlds – I know I have to choose – but it's just so hard!" I had a lot more to say, but Oscar's jaw suddenly dropped and I could almost literally see a light bulb flashing on in his brain.

He gripped my hand tightly. "Babe, there just might be a way you can do that," he said. "I don't want to make a promise I can't deliver on, so I need to make some phone calls, but I think it might really be possible!"

- - - - -


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

**JAIME**

"Do _you_ know what they're doing?" I asked Rudy ( for only the ninth or tenth time since Oscar and Steve had left for Lima).

Rudy shrugged. He was incredibly patient. "They told me exactly what they told you, Honey: phone calls."

I still suspected he knew more, but pestering him wasn't doing any good. What sort of phone calls would they travel almost an hour by jeep to make? The kind you don't wanna make in an open-air Market, I guess. I decided to give Rudy a break and change the subject. (Except I wasn't sure how to phrase my next question.) "Rudy...?" (Well...it was a start.) "If...um....if you told everyone I died, wouldn't the NSB want proof?"

"They'd have my signature on the legal documents; that would have to be good enough."

"Yeah, well, I'm betting certain people would demand the government's 'investment' back."

Rudy nodded sadly. "Ghouls," he muttered. Then his face brightened. "Let's see what Oscar and Steve come up with before we start thinking along those lines, okay?" I didn't smile back at him. I was busy trying to shove those morbid thoughts out of my head. "They'll be back soon," Rudy went on. "How would you like to surprise them?" Okay. He had my attention. "I'm thinking you could really benefit from some nice, fresh air."

_Now_ he was speaking my language! "Really? I can get up?"

"Up – and out," he affirmed. "Let's get some color in your face again. I'll help you."

I was already halfway out of bed! Rudy grabbed me around the waist just in time when I started to sway. "You're okay," he said gently, holding me upright until I could get my own bearings. "You just need to find your equilibrium."

It's a really odd sensation, having mechanically-engineered legs that are fully capable of holding me up...and yet still feeling like they might give out at any second. I guess it makes sense, since I hadn't been on my feet in a week (and had been so sick), but it just felt....weird. Slowly, with Rudy supporting me every shaky step of the way, we made it out the front door and onto the grass. The effect was almost magical! It seemed like my body was pulling energy and strength directly from the sun. 'My' monkeys played in the trees, dipping lower than usual, like they were trying to say they'd missed me. And on a low branch over by the river....the bright red Macaw!

I could feel Rudy watching me, and finally I was able to return his smile. "You really love it here," he said softly. "It shows."

I nodded. We watched and listened to the jungle, the river and the rainforest for a wonderfully long time, and then... "They're coming!" I told him. "I can hear Steve running!" In another minute, Steve came bursting through the trees, headed toward the house. "Hey, you!" I called. Steve stopped short, turned and jogged over to where we were sitting.

"You look great," he told me.

"You always say that."

"And I always mean it."

He was beaming, obviously bursting at the seams with some sort of news...and it was driving me crazy. "So....what happened? Who did Oscar call? Steve, what's going on?"

"Let's wait for Oscar," he stalled.

Those couple of minutes seemed like _forever_. Literally. Oscar ambled toward us, slowed a little by the jungle humidity but with a new lightness in his step. "Babe, I've got good news," he said, beaming. "Of course, it isn't set in stone – it's solely your decision and only a suggestion and an offer on my part -" (He was probably remembering when I'd yelled at them that morning and was hoping for no repeat performances!)

"Oscar!"

"How would you like to be the Director and Facilitator of the OSI's Survival Training Program, Amazon Division?"

"There's an Amazon Division?" I knew about desert training and forest survival...but jungle training?

Oscar chuckled. "There is now – and you're the ideal person for the job. You'd be able to keep your home here and still return to Washington – or anywhere you choose – whenever you wanted to. And it should clear you with the NSB since you would no longer be in retirement. So...what do you think?"

Was there any question in their minds what my answer would be?

- - - - -


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

**OSCAR**

We stayed in Peru for an extra week, making certain that Jaime's house and belongings were secured and that she was strong enough to travel. Of course, I had to dot all of the legal "i"s and cross the "t"s, letting the NSB know that we had located her – and that she'd be returning with us to the States.

To keep them from immediately snatching Jaime for questioning once the plane had landed, we took special precautions. She had already recovered sufficiently to be able to exit the plane under her own power (or at the most, in a wheelchair) but Rudy put her on a gurney and we instructed her to lie very still, with her eyes closed, while she was transferred to a waiting ambulance and whisked off to National Medical. Thanks to Rudy's meticulous care, Jaime really didn't need hospitalization; after a good night's rest, she was transported from National to Rudy's rehab facility in Los Angeles. That way, I could return to some of my other duties (via my California office) and still remain near enough to check in on Jaime's progress several times a day. We also felt that spiriting her away from the entire Washington DC environment (at least for the time being) would aid in her re-acclimation to what the rest of us considered 'a normal life'.

The next morning, before I'd opened the first file that waited on my desk (or had more than a sip of my first cup of coffee), the phone rang.

"We need to see her, Goldman," Bill Parr snapped (in lieu of a greeting).

"And good morning to you, too, Bill," I told him. "Jaime Sommers has decided to continue her work with us, in another capacity, so you can close the books on this one and get back to more important matters like the congressman sleeping with the senator's wife." I was kidding, but maybe it would give his devious little mind something else to focus on.

"Very funny. You know perfectly well that we need Sommers' statement regarding her activities in South America. Who did she meet with? What did she tell them?"

"She met with _nobody_, Bill," I answered, "except the man who sold chickens and the woman who grew potatoes and carrots. She had to give away State secrets via hand signals and gestures, I'm afraid, because no one else spoke English."

"I'm not laughing, Goldman. What was she _doing_ there?"

"I'd imagine she was enjoying the freedom you've been trying so hard to take away from her – and communing with nature. You do remember nature, don't you, Bill?" I nodded to Steve, who had – as usual – come in without knocking, and motioned him to a chair. "Nature is that leafy green stuff you saw at the park once when you were a little kid. It's what the dinosaurs were eating."

"We'll be out there first thing tomorrow morning," Parr snarled. (I guess he'd left his sense of humor at home.) "And we're going to see Sommers." He hung up the phone, which is what I'd expect from a man who communed with dinosaurs.

Steve had already helped himself to a cup of coffee. "Bad morning?" he asked, dropping into a chair.

"For him. How's Jaime this morning?"

"She's already driving Rudy crazy," Steve chuckled. "When he went in to check on her, she wasn't in her room – and the nurses didn't know where she was, either."

That didn't sound good. "Oh?"

"Yeah...she was down in the day room, all by herself, watching the sun come up."

I had to laugh. Classic Jaime. "I hope Rudy wasn't too hard on her."

"He pretended to be," Steve explained, "but I think he took it as a good sign." He paused for a few seconds. I knew he had something else to tell me...and I waited for it. "We may have a bit of a problem, though," he said slowly.

"What is it? Is her pneumonia back?"

"No, nothing like that. In fact, she may be feeling a little _too_ good. Oscar....Jaime's asking to see Chris."

- - -

"It's out of the question, Babe," I told her as firmly as one can, when one is facing a set jaw and determined pair of hazel eyes.

"I wanna hear from his own lips why he stabbed me in the back!" Jaime argued. "And yes, you're my boss and yes, I respect your opinion, but this isn't work-related. This is personal. I let you bring me back to _America_, which the last time I checked was a free country."

"Jaime, I just don't think -"

She was having none of it. "I need to do this. He thinks he cut me outta his life, but I'm gonna leave no doubt that it's me who sent HIM away!"

Steve stepped a little closer to where Jaime stood by the window with her arms stubbornly crossed in front of her chest. "He hurt you, so you have to hurt him back?" Steve asked, more gently than I could have said it. "Is that it?"

"I just wanna be the one to end the story and close the book," she insisted.

- - - - -


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

**JAIME**

There was so much to do, and Rudy – who was still trying to get me to 'take it easy' – wasn't helping! Yeah, I probably should've at least told a nurse where I was going that first morning, but I would have missed a beautiful sunrise! It's about the closest I can get to nature for the moment...and nature is my inspiration. Oscar tells me that I don't have to decide and plan everything in one fell swoop – that creating an entirely new survival program involves plenty of time for 'research and development' – but I just want to DO IT! Now. (Can you tell I'm a little excited?)

Poor Oscar. He wasn't real happy with me when he found out that I'd already called Chris – and that he was on his way to the rehab center. The thing is, I was getting ready to start a new life...and that involved tying up the loose ends that remained from the old one. I _had_ to meet with Hansen and Parr – there was no getting around that – but seeing Chris one last time was something I _needed_ to do...for ME. Steve obviously didn't understand that any more than Oscar did. He kept pacing little tiny circles in the floor, clenching and un-clenching his fists. But in the end, they both agreed to 'let' me do it. (Like they really had any choice...!)

I had to...um...politely request that they both leave the rehab center and go out for lunch, have a couple of beers or maybe play some poker – anything other than hang around where I'd have to worry about Steve doing bodily harm to Chris. I had my own plans for the man and didn't want any interference.

When I called him, I didn't say that I knew what he'd done. I just said that I was back and I needed to see him. Would he come clean – admit to it on his own?

He came bearing flowers – do you believe the nerve? I resisted the overwhelming urge to scrub his face with them...and set them on the bedside table instead.

"I missed you," he told me – and he _leaned in for a kiss!_ (I turned my head.)

"So I heard," I said, trying to sound neutral...for the moment.

"Are you...alright?" he asked.

"I will be."

"After all this time, I was worried that...well, that something had happened to you." He took my hand and it made me want to cringe. "I had to look for you on my own."

"Oh, really? You did?"

"Of course, I did. I love you. When you left me at the cabin, I didn't know what to think. Oscar wasn't giving out any information, and -"

That was all I could stomach. "Maybe he wasn't," I allowed, "but you were...weren't you, Chris?"

"What? I was....what?" He couldn't really look at me. For a trained agent, he sure was a crummy actor.

"Giving information. Chris, I know what you did."

"What are you talking about? Look, I don't know what they told you, but -"

"They told me _the truth!_ You fed information – about me – to the NSB. You told them everything they wanted to know...and then some! How could you do that? WHY would you do that?"

His face turned pale. "I wanted to make sure you came home safely."

"You wanted me dragged back in chains!"

"You were on your own out there – anything could've happened..."

"Like maybe I'd learn how much better my life was without you in it?" I countered. (Mean, yes, but I couldn't help it!)

"Jaime, please....I love you."

I could feel my teeth clenching. "Do _not_ say that to me _**ever**_ again."

"I know you're angry, but just stop and think about this -"

"I trusted you – and you betrayed me! At the very least, I'd hoped you might come here and admit what you did – that you'd made a terrible mistake – and that you were sorry..."

"I love you," he insisted.

Okay. I admit it. I lost my temper. I pulled back and slapped him across the face...with my left hand. "Get. Out." I turned my back to him, but could hear that he hadn't moved. "Now."

I waited with my back turned until his footsteps had receded all the way down the hall, then I tore the flowers into the tiniest of shreds and pushed the pile into the garbage.

One down...two to go. I still had to deal with Bill Parr and Jack Hansen. Something told me they _wouldn't_ be bringing flowers.

- - - - -


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

**STEVE**

While Jaime was waiting to meet with Chris, Oscar and I were waiting, too – in the parking lot. (You didn't really think we'd leave entirely, did you?) When I saw Chris walking toward the entrance with flowers in his hand, I knew he was in deep trouble. I had one hand on the car's door handle – had a few things I wanted to say to him myself – but Oscar held me back.

"Let's let Jaime handle this," he said quietly.

"Is that my boss speaking...or my friend?" I asked.

"Both."

It didn't take ol' Chris long to come back out. Jaime had obviously handed it to him on a silver platter. Oscar put his hand on my arm again, but this time I wasn't thinking of going after him. It was better watching him skulk away with his tail between his legs.

We waited a respectable length of time before going in to check on Jaime. (Couldn't have her find out we'd been sitting in the parking lot, after all.) We found her in the day room, busily scribbling in a spiral notebook. Naturally, she heard us coming – and she looked up and smiled.

"I'll start 'em off in the rainforest, I think," she told us, "and then ease them into the jungle. That way, the tougher stuff won't be so much of a shock. Or do you think we should drop 'em right into the thick of it?"

There were no tears...and no signs of foul temper, either. "It went okay, then?" I asked. "With Chris, I mean."

"Yeah. He's gone. Oscar, how many do you think you'll be sending in for each class? 'Cause I think no more than three would be best."

I looked at Oscar, and we had to laugh. More Classic Jaime: close one file in life and move straight on to the next. No interruptions, no looking back.

- - -

Oscar and I met at his office the next morning before the sun was even up. Hansen and Parr were expected around 8am – and we needed at least a full pot of coffee before then. They had agreed to meet with us before heading over to see Jaime, but 8:00 came and went...then 8:15. Then the phone rang. It was Rudy, calling from the rehab center.

"I'm sorry – could you repeat that?" Oscar growled, hitting the 'speakerphone' button.

I heard Rudy sigh. "You've been bamboozled," he told us. "The NSB goons are here – and they're already talking to Jaime."

- - -

**RUDY**

They flashed their badges at Security, walked straight in the front entrance and smirked as they passed the nurses' desk where I was making notes in Jaime's file.

"Morning, Doctor Wells," Hansen said. His voice dripped sarcasm and contempt in those three short words.

"Now wait just a minute!" I called after them.

"Need something, Doc?"

"My understanding was that Oscar Goldman and Colonel Austin would be accompanying you -"

"They couldn't make it." The two men continued down the hall, obviously pre-briefed on just where to find Jaime. I made a very fast phone call to alert Oscar and then tore after them, still hoping to shield Jaime or at least help soften whatever verbal blows they'd intended for her.

She didn't need my help. They stood on either side of her bed, looming over her, but she stared back at them defiantly.

"No closer, Doctor," Hansen said without looking at me.

"She's my patient; this is my facility."

"We can remove her from 'your facility', if you'd prefer," Parr threatened.

"I'm okay, Rudy," Jaime called in a firm voice. "I can handle this."

I moved out of the doorway and stood in the hall, still within earshot....just in case.

"Who was your primary contact in Lima?" Hansen demanded.

"I didn't have one." Jaime's words were clear, strong and unafraid.

"Who helped you hide out for so long?"

"I did it on my own. I bought the house from a research assistant at the University under a fake name. I got groceries at the market near the house. Nobody in a fifty-mile radius spoke English that I'm aware of. If I _had_ wanted to sell or give away government secrets, no one would've had a clue what I was talking about. Any other questions, _Gentlemen?_" I could just picture Jaime with her eyes blazing and that firm set to her jaw.

"We have plenty of questions," Parr told her. "Isn't it true that you and Goldman concocted this whole so-called survival training scheme as a way to get you out of a mountain of trouble?"

"Well, it was Oscar's idea, yes, but it isn't a scheme," she retorted. "We already have the same type of programs in the desert, the mountains and the forest. Why not the jungle? It's only logical. We run plenty of missions there – may as well teach the operatives how to survive if something goes wrong, don't you think?"

"But there really IS no program, is there, Miss Sommers? It's all lip service in an attempt to keep you out of prison."

"Of course, there's a program. I mean, it's just getting started, but we're well into the planning stages." (That was news to me, but suddenly I was glad she'd gotten inspiration from that sunrise!) "Here – I have half a notebook full of notes. Maps, plans, and even preliminary curriculum outlines. Feel free to read through them. I'll be happy to answer any questions you might have when you're finished."

Right about then, Steve came storming through the entrance, with Oscar not far behind. I held my hand up to stop them from going any further.

"But...they blind-sided her," Steve protested.

"More like she blind-sided them," I answered. "She's doing just fine on her own. Hansen and Parr probably don't know what hit them."

- - - - - 


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

**STEVE**

What Jaime did the day the NSB came to see her was nothing short of amazing. Oscar had said they might arrest her and try charging her with suspicion of treason and even though that wouldn't have stuck, it would've been pretty ugly. I wanted to charge into that room and tell them just what I thought of them and their tactics (maybe with my fists blazing), but Jaime didn't need my help – or anyone else's. As Parr and Hansen were leaving, I even heard her call after them that maybe they might like to sign up for her course themselves – that she was sure she could teach them a thing or two! I gave them a death stare as they walked past us and down the hall, but no further words were necessary. Jaime had said it all.

When Rudy released her from rehab about two weeks later, her notebook was full, she'd started a second one – and she wanted to head right back down to the house in Peru to get started! But there were planning sessions to attend (where Oscar actually got to sit and listen because Jaime had everything pretty much mapped it all out _her way_), and she did want to see Mom and Dad before leaving again. What usually takes three to six months, though, from the initial idea to the start of the actual first class, took just over five weeks.

Oscar and I flew back to South America with her to wish her well. Jaime gave several hours of instruction a few miles down the river (couldn't have them too close to civilization), then we had a congratulatory champagne toast back at the house after her first three victims (I mean students) had been unceremoniously banished into the rainforest. Jaime insisted that giving the class machetes would be making things way too easy for them. They were issued pocketknives and a small box of matches (according to Jaime, that was all they _really_ needed) and told she'd find them again in the morning.

"Shouldn't they have canteens or...something?" I wondered out loud.

Jaime laughed. "They're well-hydrated. If they're smart, they'll clear a spot, start a campfire and boil some water. If not, well, there's always tomorrow. They'll last the night just fine."

"You're taking canteens in the morning?"

"Nope. But if they haven't done it on their own, I'll help them find drinking water. I gave them the basic knowledge already – they just have to use it. They can pick fruit, too, if they choose the right kinds."

"Damn," I said, laughing with her, "you're tough!"

"And we're lucky to have you here," Oscar told her, raising his glass for another toast.

"You gentlemen are welcome to sign up for the next session, you know. I'll be happy to take you both on."

"Well, Babe..." Oscar began, clearing his throat, "I don't really work in the field any longer, but maybe Steve could benefit from -"

"Steve could benefit from an easy chair and a glass or two of beer after a rough mission," I said quickly. "I'll come down to visit, but I'd rather sleep under a roof than under a tree full of bats and monkeys."

"You got it," Jaime promised. "And you'd better visit – _both_ of you! Of course, I'll be flying back every now and then. I don't think Rudy'll let me slide on another 10,000 mile check-up."

"At least now we know where to find you," I added.

"Yup – in my little house at the end of the road, where the monkeys and red macaws play...."

Jaime was so happy that she was about to burst into song. We _had_ to toast to that!

**END**


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